Baby Blues
by Orange Sodie
Summary: Carter's baby memoirs.


DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is just a little something that came out of me the other night as I was lying in bed. It's a little sad, but hopefully with a happy ending. Hope you enjoy it. 

SUMMARY: Carter's baby memoirs. 

ARCHIVE: Sure, just let me know where. 

"Baby Blues" by Carolina

"John?"

I remember that night as if it had happened 3 minutes ago. I remember the adrenaline rushing through me so fast my limbs were almost moving by themselves. 

"John?"

She was pushing me and stroking me and poking me and for a moment I almost yelled at her, until I noticed the urge in her voice. 

"What is it?" I turned on the lamp, rubbing my eyes and trying to wake up. 

"It's moving."

Words that I'll never forget. I had to think about that for a while before realizing what she was talking about. After all, anything could be "moving."

"What?" I repeated again and it was the first time I noticed the grin on her face, and her hand clutching her stomach. 

"The baby," she said with a smile and added again, "It just moved."

"What?" I asked again but this time rhetorically, I'm sure my eyes opened up to the size of two watermelons. The first thing I did, of course, was to put my hand on her stomach. For a moment I was disappointed because nothing was moving, and she tried to convince me that she was not just making it up so I'd go out to get her some ice cream, like she had done before. 

"It was just moving, I promise," she said and we both stayed in silence, as if that would initiate some activity. I rested my head on her chest, kissing her stomach and rubbing it gently. 

"Come on," I cooed to the little bulge and closed my eyes. A gasp escaped from me and my hand jumped with my whole body as I looked at her with the face of amazement and pure euphoria. "Oh, Deb," I exclaimed as I put my hand once more on her stomach, feeling our baby move. 

I felt Deb's hand stroking my hair and at that moment it was the first time when I realized I was the happiest man that ever walked this earth. To this day, I stand behind that feeling to be completely accurate. There was no way that any man, child, father, husband, or brother could have been as happy as I was. At that moment I was also the luckiest man. I was everything and I had everything right there on my bed. 

I rested my chin on her chest and looked up at her beautiful dark eyes, damped with tears of joy. There was no reason to worry, because mine were just as wet. Our baby moved. Our baby was in there. It was growing and moving and soon it would be in our arms. For a long time I had craved fatherhood, but I never knew it would be this... there's not even words to describe the feeling. Complete and total happiness. So much happiness that you feel as if your skin is the only thing preventing you from exploding.

I kissed Deb softly and rested my head on her chest again, putting my arms around her. For the first time since we took that pregnancy test everything felt real. A feeling of peace and joy washed over me as I realized that at that exact moment, I was embracing my whole family. 

~*~

Waiting for a baby is one of the most exciting experiences a human being can endure. Days seem like years and each one of them is significant, even if it's just another day of the waiting, the anticipating. It was all we'd talk about at the table. Baby books were beginning to pile up in out shelves and living room. We each had a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" because I found myself just as morning sick as Deb. As much as I knew I was driving my co-workers crazy, it was all I could talk about at work. And it's not because it's all you think about, but everything turns you around and drives you back to those wonderful baby thoughts. A night at a baseball game with Dave and Luka reminds you of the little leagues, which reminds you of little kids, and fathers and sons, and the thought that you might be having a boy. Lunch at the cafeteria, a piece of angel cake, cakes on a tea party, it would be great to have a girl. 

Everything is an exaggeration, and everything you want to imprint in your mind so you can remember it forever. Many were the times when Deb would yell at me because I was over protective. And maybe I was. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served by the time she woke up, walked into the kitchen, or came home from work. I didn't let her clean, lift anything heavy or take complicated cases at the hospital. Walking near radiology was forbidden; treating a violent person or a psych patient out of the question. The majority of human beings cringe at the thought of morning sickness. I was so excited when Deb first threw up that I almost saved it on a cup for safe keeping. 

Women, though, women are worse. Every other word out of their mouth was 'baby'. Now that I look back I realized I was also jealous. Abby and Cleo would stop by unexpectedly and take Deb baby shopping. They were taking that experience away from me. So we made a pact. Deb, Abby, and Cleo could go shopping for baby clothes; Deb and I would go shopping for the important things. And so soon enough the nursery was filled with toys, clothes, a crib, high chair, a car seat... 

It's one of the many frustrations of being pregnant. Suddenly everyone is coming over at all times and there's no intimacy. We weren't the only ones pregnant, it was my family, and Deb's family and the whole hospital. 

~*~

Cravings are the one things you look back at and laugh. Back then, there was nothing humorous about being waken up at 3 in the morning to go out into the streets and find some pork. Doritos with ketchup, pork, chocolate ice cream with sour cream, seafood at 4 am, onion rings, lasagna... she even craved things she hated! But I knew that is was good. The more signs she showed that she was pregnant, the more excited I got. 

Going to the OB was my favorite part, and hearing the baby's heart beat... there's no words to describe that feeling. It seemed that every day I was less of a doctor, and more of a father. I had normal hours at work, we had our own house in the suburbs, we had a normal life. Normal was a word I had never used to describe anything that was related to my life. For 30 years I had been dysfunctional, now, because of Deb and because of our baby, I found myself feeling that I was a normal human beings, with real emotions and being able to handle simple emotional ordeals which would have killed me before. I was a shipwreck at sea and Deb had found me, and to this day, I still let her know all the time that I owe my life to her. 

Earlier than we thought, we found out we were having a boy. I was so happy I was scared I'd reach Nirvana and disappear out of this world. A boy. I was having a boy. I'd raise him the way my parents never tried to, I'd take him to ball games, I'd spend time with him, I'd help him with homework and teach him how to be a gentleman. I was having a boy, my little man as I liked to call him. I didn't want to be pregnant anymore, I wanted to give birth. 

Soon the hardest part came, baby names. Everyone had their own opinion. Deb's family wanted a Chinese name, my family stopped by with a long list of names, all belonging to dead Carters, ghosts I had been hearing about my whole life. My mother wanted to name him like my father, I declined. My family had little to do with my growing up, why did they have to get some credit?

The names I liked, Deb hated and vice versa. So with all this push and pull we decided to wait and see what the baby looked like before we gave him a name. Imagine the fit both families threw. I didn't care about that, neither did Deb. We had a little boy who was coming out in three months, everything else had little if no importance at all.

~*~

For months I had been so high up in the air, that I never thought things could succumb. It was a cold night of August when I reached out to Deb and the bed was empty. Figuring she was just using the bathroom or having a midnight snack, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep again. Somehow, though, the sounds around me were louder. The few lights coming from the city were almost blinding, and something wouldn't let me sleep. Letting out a sigh, I stood up to go for a glass of milk, but I would never make it to the kitchen. 

As soon as I walked out of our room, I heard Deb in the bathroom. She was moaning. In complete trepidation, I walked near and knocked on the door lightly. "Deb?"

"John?" she moaned. Deb never moaned like that. It was a moan of pain. I opened the door and there she was, sitting against the wall and clutching her stomach. Suddenly I was sitting next to her, but I'll never know if I knelt down or if I just fell. 

"What is it? Are you ok?" I asked in a frenzy, not knowing what to do and not being able to wait for her answer. "Are you having contractions?"

Deb closed her eyes. It was obvious that she was in pain, but I didn't know if she had fallen and hurt herself. "I don't know," she moaned. 

I know Deb and she never said I don't know unless something was wrong. I tried to remain calm, after all, it could have been false labor. "How far along are they?"

"I don't know," she repeated. 

"Why didn't you wake me, Deb!" I was no longer scared, I was furious. 

That feeling went away quickly when she let out a small yell. My heart sank and I have no recollection of what happened after that. My next memory was of the NICU, all the lights slowly lit, and small incubators spread all around the room. I was aware that people were around me, walking, watching their babies, talking, working... I couldn't feel them, I couldn't feel my own body. I could hear someone calling my name, but I thought it was a dream, because it sounded too far away. 

Not knowing how, I turned around and there was Dr. Coburn, with a sad expression on her face, apologetic, as if everything had been her fault. She put her hand on my upper arm and tried to smile. 

"I think you should go see Jing Mei," she said almost in a whisper. 

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about it all was being the husband, being the one who had to stay on top of things, being the one who had to keep things together. No matter how destroyed you are inside, outside everything has to be under control, if you lose it, the world comes to an end. 

I nodded my head slowly, watching the incubator from afar. I didn't want to go to either room. In one of them laid my baby, as small as two hands put together, and almost completely wrapped in tubes. In the other laid my wife, the love of my life, the woman I'd die for all crumbled up in a ball of depression and sadness. 

My feet began to move even before I ordered them to. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before opening the door. There was Deb, on her small bed, resting her head on the small pillow and watching the monitors intensely. I walked over and dragged a stool in front of her so that I could face her. As soon as she saw me, she began to cry, and an unwelcome knot on my throat suddenly wouldn't let me breathe. I wrapped my arms around her and to this day I don't know where I got the strength. I get the feeling that all of it, my strenght, my hopes, my power and my energy, they all came from Deb herself. 

~*~

As I wheeled my wife down the hall so that she could meet our baby for the first time, many were the times when I wanted to turn her around and take her home, protect her from what she'd see in the NICU. None of us said a single word. The hallway seemed to get even longer with every step I took, and after passing other people in the hall, and working up the little courage I had, I slid my employee card at the NICU door and was allowed in. 

As a doctor, I had always found this place to be melancholic. As a father, it was hell. You can't see a single person smiling, except when someone gets the good news that their baby was going to be ok and would be released. The rest were sitting on wheelchairs, looking at their babies through a crystal panel. The way Deb wiped her face, I knew she was crying already, and I looked away, I couldn't stand the sight of her crying. Ever since I met Deb Chen, she had been the one providing the strength. Every time I needed energy, I'd go to her and she's pass it all to me. I'd often joke that we were a match made in heaven. She had what I needed and I had what she craved. But now, the one person who always gave me strength had none... I was lost at sea again. 

Suddenly I parked her in front of our incubator, and to my surprise, Deb didn't lose it. Instead, she smiled. Amazing, but she was smiling. Tears were falling down her cheeks but there was also joy in her face, along with so many other emotions that she didn't look like the woman I married at all. There was our little man, so small you could almost see his insides, tubes coming in and out of him, breathing so fast it looked as if he had just ran 20 miles. 

She slid her hand inside and caressed his face ever so slightly, and our baby moved. It was the first sign of life, and suddenly I found myself smiling also. 

Deb began to coo to him, trying to comfort him. "Hi Sam."

To this day I still don't know how or why she came up with that name, but it seemed to fit well. Only three letters, small as our baby. She was right, when we saw him, we did know. 

So our baby had a name, and he was out in the world, yet the heartache of it all was too much to take in. The days that followed were the worst. Working on a hospital has those drawbacks. People stopped by all the time, not knowing what we wanted was to be alone with our baby. They all thought it was nice that they were trying to comfort us, but none of the things they said did. We appreciated their efforts, but deep down I wished no one would stop by. I looked back a couple of months and it all seemed like a nightmare. I was so excited about this, that I understand why people thought they had to watch over me all the time. 

It seems like every time a doctor came to talk to us, they had nothing but bad news. Sam's lungs weren't mature enough, he has having kidney problems, he was too small, the chances of brain abnormalities were wide. All of these I knew, but what bothered me the most was that these doctors didn't know if Sammy would get better. That was all we needed to know, and that was the one answer they couldn't provide. 

When something like this happens, you start hearing the same things over and over. It's as if people had been passing around the same words of encouragement and they were saying them one by one. Every time I saw a friend walking to our room, I knew exactly what they were going to say. "Carter, go home. Go Home. Go Home." But how could I go home? I was supposed to go home with my wife and baby, not alone. 

Eventually I had to go. Deb was at the hospital, and I was all by myself with my thoughts. The phone rang every other minute because people called to see if anything had changed. No, nothing has changed, it's still touch and go, we don't know how long he'll be on the incubator, no, he doesn't look good. After two calls, I had to unplug the phone. 

The house was too quiet, even with the television on. Your mind keeps wondering and you can't sit still, but walking around was even worse. Inevitably, I always ended on then nursery. There laid all of my baby's things. There were toys scattered around, a car seat, a high chair, baby blankets, baby albums... everything except the baby. The crib laid on the floor in pieces. You can't bring yourself to put it together because you never know what is going to happen. As much as you want to keep your hopes, for you and for your wife, you know better than to hope too much. I closed the door to the nursery and vowed myself I wouldn't open it until Sam came home. 

~*~

Every minute was a celebration, a birthday, a miracle. I thanked God every 60 seconds because my Sammy was still breathing. Eventually Deb was discharged, but we were practically living at the hospital. I pulled some strings and we were able to stay in a different room every night. As crazy as it sounds, I started working. It was the only thing which could keep my mind away from my baby for a couple of hours. But my free time, I spent upstairs with my wife and son. 

A roller coaster is the best way I can describe those days. We found ourselves up one day when the doctors let us hold our baby. As we both sat in front of the incubator, he was taken out carefully and placed on Deb's arms. At that moment, everything was ok. I put my arms around my wife and son and we were all in heaven. He was as heavy as a piece of paper, but he was alive, that was all we needed to know. I wished that moment could have lasted forever, but inevitably, he was taken away from us and put back in the incubator, and he wasn't our son anymore, he was on display. 

More than once my I found myself being slave to anger. I was a witness to this one morning when I went to get some milk at a local bakery. All around me, people were talking, and laughing, reading their newspapers, and eating their donuts. I was too much for me to handle. I threw a five dollar bill to the cashier and ran out, suffocating. I locked myself in the car and punched the steering wheel. How DARE this people go about as if nothing was happening. What RIGHT do they have to smile and chat when my baby was in the hospital, unable to breathe on his own, too small to hope for, too big to let go. 

Hypocrites! They were all hypocrites! I hated other people. The only person I could stand to be with during those rage attacks was my wife. I loathed everyone else. I hated and even envied them. They still had their sanity and their self control, their lives. We had nothing. I hated the way they pretended to care. I hated their sympathetic voices, their touches of empathy. I hated their kind words of encouragement, yet as the rage subsided, I found myself clinging on to them like there was no tomorrow. Literally, I wasn't sure there was a future. I needed my hate, I was also losing my mind. 

~*~

Guilt. One of the many feelings about having a premature baby, and probably the worst. It didn't take long before Deb began to blame herself. She'd apologize to me every chance she got because she should have stopped working, because she should have taken better care of herself, because she should have eaten more, because she should have exercised. But I knew she wasn't to blame. I had been by her side and I knew she was doing everything perfectly. Our visits to our OB had always ended with an, "Everything looks perfect." So the blame must have been mine. I wouldn't let Deb alone, I wouldn't let her breathe. I pampered her too much and I was too over protective. If it was somebody's fault, it was mine. 

I couldn't live with that guilt because it was killing me inside, it was creating a big void. One day I walked into the NICU, and parked my chair in front of Sam's incubator. I knew there were other people around me, but I didn't care. I started talking to him, apologizing for letting him down, assuring him that his mother and I loved him more than anything on this earth, and that we would always take care of him no matter what. I begged him to please get better, to hang in there, that if I could move an entire building with my hands for him, I would. That he was everything to me. I don't know if I was hallucinating or not, but I swear I saw him smile. With tears in my eyes, I fell asleep on my chair, next to my little man. 

~*~

To many people, 843 is just a number, maybe the number of times they've seen a certain movie, or the number of steps from their apartment building to the gas station two blocks away. To me, it is the one number that haunts me and that I'll never forget. It was a quiet morning when the world seemed to stop at 8:43, when my baby stopped breathing and a doctor we had never seen before, called the time of death on my son. It was like those side effects they use on movies sometimes, when everything is going in fast forward yet the one thing you're focusing on is in slow motion. I felt Deb next to me, crying quietly. I felt my life escape through my toes, until I was empty inside. I felt my baby out of my grasp, and there was nothing I could do about it. The strange doctor gave us a sympathetic look and walked away, leaving us alone with the body of Sam. 

Someone, I don't remember who, came over and took Deb away. I don't know how much time passed since his death was called, time was something I couldn't count on anymore. As I stood there, watching the small white blanket covering my Sammy, I felt someone stand next to me in complete silence. My eyes never moved, but through the crystal window I saw Luka's reflection. Great, what did he want now? To tell me he knows how I feel because he lost his own family as well? To tell me that it's hard but you have to move on? To tell me that one day I'm going to wake up and everything was going to be ok? I don't want to hear any of that. That's all bullshit. Nothing was ever going to be ok. Sam was dead and the last thing I need is someone preaching on me. 

I'll never know if I said that out loud but I must have, because he rested his hand on my shoulder, muttered an, "Ok," and walked away without saying another word. 

~*~

The house wasn't the same. The nursery was still the same way we left it the night Deb went into labor. Everything was a mess. People would drop by often to clean for us, to cook for us, to live for us. We'd both eat in silence. We went to bed in silence and woke up in silence. The best support came from no one but ourselves, and in the weirdest way. No matter where, or at what time, or in front of whom, all of a sudden we'd fall into each other. In the lounge, on the El, at home, walking down the street... it was a beautiful yet inaudible cry for solace. I knew when she needed to be held, and she knew when I needed to be embraced. We lived like this for months. We'd go to the cemetery every week with fresh and lively flowers. We'd each talk to our baby and then went home to silence again. 

We weren't the only ones in mourning. Without friends and family, God knows what would have happened to our little home. People kept stopping by. Luka and Abby brought food, Kerry gave us time off work, Dr. Benton stopped by to keep me company, Cleo and Abby took Deb out to lunch at least once a week. One of the reasons why you move on, is because you know that others are hurting too, yet they are, too, moving forward. All you have to do it make sure you are all walking in the same direction, and the rest comes with time. 

There is always a very strong catalyst which drives you from point A to point B. I'll never forget that either. As much as our silence was comforting, it was killing us inside, and I knew that. Deb knew that too, yet we never said anything about it. It seemed that everything important for us always happened at night. As I woke up and saw the bed was empty, I thought I was relieving that awful night again through a nightmare. I touched my face, and looked around, I was awake. 

I walked out and down the stairs to find Deb sitting by the fireplace, crying. My presence didn't stop her. At that moment I knew what would happen. The healing, the turn around, the confrontation. We would start living again. 

I knelt in front of her and she fell into my arms, gasping for air. I held her tight. Many were the times when I found myself in bed with a woman, yet I never knew that a man could love a woman so much. Seeing her cry was like being stabbed over and over. I know that kind of pain, and it's not nearly as bad as seeing the one you love hurting. But I was hurting too. It was something we shared, a common loss, something which brought us closer that we could have ever been. 

She sniffed against my neck and the catalyst was poured. "I want my baby, John," she cried and at that time I couldn't take it anymore. I began to cry as well. 

"Me too," I whispered back. Every time I closed my eyes, there he was, lying on the incubator. I saw him when he was one, and learning to walk. I saw him when he was five and in the little leagues. I saw him as a teenager, quiet and smart. I saw him going off to college, and I saw him getting married, only it was something I would never see at all. 

Eventually yet extremely reluctantly, the world starts to spin again. Yet not a day went by without either of us talking about Sammy. But we never talked about the what if. None of us ever said something like, "If he would have lived..." As the months passed and seasons came and went, we began to smile. Memories of Sammy were no longer painful, but beautiful. Smiles became giggles and giggles laughter. We didn't have much to remember, but what we did experience, although excruciating, was something given to us, a life lesson, if you will. Quite a tough class, you might say. Well, yes. But there's also something better that comes with it. A feeling which is very hard to explain. Maybe an inner peace, the knowledge that your baby is not suffering anymore, and that no matter how many years go by, you will always love him as much as the night he first moved. 

More than often, even now, I find myself thinking about him. I see him with his little wings, his hallo, and his adoring smile looking down at us. A little too religious to my tasting, but it is the only way I can see it. After all, he was an angel. And he's still our little angel. 

"Carter?" 

He put his pen down and looked at the smiley face of Dr. Coburn.

"It's time to push."

Carter almost knocked the chair out of the way as he sprung up and practically ran into the delivery room, where his wife was trying to concentrate on breathing.

"Where were you?" Deb asked furiously through clenched teeth. 

Carter immediately grabbed her hand and kissed her head, knowing at that moment she wanted to kill him. "I was just writing a letter," he reassured her. 

"Ok, Carters, are you ready to push this baby out?" Coburn asked as she gloved up. 

"No," Deb exhaled. 

"Come on, honey," Carter cooed. 

"Oh, yes you are. You can't keep it in there forever," Coburn teased. 

"I'll home school," Deb said between breaths.

"Enough with the comedy, come on Jing Mei," Coburn said. "Just take a deep breath."

Jing Mei did as told and began to push.

"One, two, three..." Coburn began, joined by Carter.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten. Good job, honey," Carter encouraged her with a kiss. 

Deb tried to catch her breath, holding on to Carter's hand tight. 

"Come on, one more," Coburn said. 

"I know your tricks!" Deb yelled. 

Coburn chuckled, "Ok, maybe not just one more, but the harder you work the fastest this baby will be out, so come on."

"Come on, baby," Carter cooed. 

"Don't patronize me!" Deb snapped and took another deep breath. 

Carter looked at Coburn and smiled, and went back to his wife, "Ok. One, two, three..."

~*~

I'll never forget that sound, my baby crying. This time, everything went perfectly. 6 pounds and 2 ounces of pure joy, or perfection, of love. 

After Sammy died I never really thought a second child could feel that void. As harsh as it sounds, I wanted my baby and no other, and getting over his death was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But it also taught me that fatherhood is synonymous to bottomless love. Amazing to think how such a small organ can hold on to such a big emotion. Every time I look at my baby girl, my heart wants to explode. Every time she smiles at me, I feel like we are the only two people on earth. I know I'll never find the cure to cancer, be president or go to the moon. But to Hannah Elise Carter I'm the most important person in the world, and that's all I need to know to keep me going. 

The End. 


End file.
